Keeping Secrets
by strangenginger
Summary: Slytherin house cerca 1971 has gotta be interesting, right? I mean you've got the Lestranges', the Black sisters, Snape, Malfoy, Rosier, Rookwood, the Dark lord's daughter... They must have some reason to be crazy muggleborn haters.


You've gotta know the drill by now; unfortunately anything you recognise is not mine and belongs to JK :)

**Prologue. **

"Belle!" I heard the anguish cry of a man pierce the calm, his sobs evident and clear.

"Belle, my Belle, I am so sorry my love, so sorry Mon Belle..." he lapsed into French, kneeling next to the lifeless corpse of an insane, passionate, vixen.

He grieved for the loss of his loved one, as so many of the onlookers had been doing, prior to his screams. Now, the cast their judgmental stare over him; they thought him a mad man, uncaring and insane.

He wasn't.

He was just a man in love. A man, who cared, forced onto the wrong side, only growing a backbone when the vipers' jaws were shut; when it was too late to escape. His downfall was the mistake of having hope. Hoping that eventually, he and his love would be free. Free of entanglements, free of desires of others and of expectations.

Was I allowed to grieve? Or would they just think me to be insane?

"Dora, Remus! No, no, no..." A woman's cry broke out, amongst the many others. The man's grieving seemed pale and in compassionate compared to hers.

"No..." she screamed, tears running down her lined face. Those lines were not there a year ago.

"No! You promised me!" she screamed out to the room; she had no one to comfort her. Husband, daughter, son in law, deceased. The only family she had left would be incapable of giving her comfort and guidance. One month old and an orphan.

Her deep brown hair came out of her bun as she ran through the halls, looking, searching. Looking for someone, searching for anyone who could comfort her, anyone who knew her.

Instead she was greeted with another lifeless corpse. Her incessant chanting began again, as she knelt beside the grieving man, the judgemental stares of the room decided she to be insane also.

A blond haired woman joined them, her husband looking lost, attempting to comfort the three grieving.

If they could grieve for the dead and insane then I could.

I cried. The tears of blood, gold and glistening diamond ran down my face, joining the blood that stained my outfit. I screamed, taking my lifeless parents' hands in my own, shouting out my grief to all in that hall, colouring the walls with it. I called out to every deity that I knew of, begging and pleading. I shouted to the gods that it wasn't fair; I blamed everything that came to mind.

I felt my brothers' hand on my shoulder.

He said my name, told me I had to finish them. He told me it was my duty. He told me that that is what they would have wanted.

I screamed and beat my hands against his chest, thrashing when he put his arms around me. I yelled at him that it wasn't fair, in a language he couldn't understand.

I told him I would wait for my husband.

He reminded me he was dead. He reminded me that my husband loved me, and told me to do my duty.

Eventually I gave in. I took my knife in my hand, the one with a serpent curved around a handle; onyx eyes with glittering emerald scales. My father's gift to my mother. My mother's gift to me.

I cut out there hearts, and stabbed them. Releasing their magick. It ran in circles, looking for a new host. Looking for whom they could deem worthy. The black serpent locked its red eyes with mine, daring me to get lost into its topaz eyes. I glared at it, defiant as always. The snake smirked and, without a backwards glance at it former host, slithered to join my magick. The cat took longer. It roamed around, hissing at the dead and grieving, whilst I sat there in wait. Eventually the cat slicked toward me, with a knowing smirk. She didn't even test me, she just crept in.

Then their bodies burnt. The cruller side of accepting the deads' magick; you lose what you have left. I cried in my brother's arms, as he picked me up and laid me beside his wife, as he too grieved for what was lost.

We cried for the dead, for those who never knew the bitter taste of freedom. We grieved for the insane, and those judgmental onlookers called us insane with them.

Sorry if it sucks and makes no sense, but hey ho, it's a prologue; not making sense is part of the job description. Although it being 3am may have something to do with it sucking:) hopefully it'll make more sense when I put up the 1st chappie if not, well tough: P


End file.
